by Emma Slate
I never wanted to leave this moment. I never wanted to leave him.
Chapter 31
Krasnyy was located in the heart of Soho. The name of the lounge was written in red on the exterior of the building. But otherwise there was no signage. You had to know what to look for if you wanted to find it.
Filled with white plush couches, the dim lighting from the sconces was warm and sensual. The walls and arches of the doorways were made of Mediterranean white stone, giving the lounge a catacomb feel without it being sinister.
Sasha and Quinn sat at the bar, leaning towards each other while holding drinks. I strolled towards them, hating that I was interrupting their camaraderie. They each hugged me in greeting and Sasha gestured to the bartender for another drink.
“Archer isn’t here yet?” I asked.
“Not yet,” Sasha confirmed.
Keeping the smile on my face, I placed my drink in front of my mouth when I asked, “Anything out of the ordinary?”
“Man alone in the corner,” Quinn said with a bright smile on her face.
I surveyed the room, pretending to check out the crowd. My eyes purposefully skimmed over him and dismissed him, but I got the general idea. Dark-haired, dark eyes, alone.
“So he’s now watching both of us,” I said to Sasha. “Excellent.”
Don Archer finally walked into the lounge. He was a distinguished man, still robust despite the fact that he spent most of his time behind a desk instead of in the field. His dark hair was liberally gray and his face was prematurely lined from all the stress his job piled on him.
Stepping away from Sasha and Quinn, I headed for Archer who was surveying the room. When he saw me, he smiled in recognition. After we exchanged polite greetings, I led him to a booth in the corner. He took the side of the booth facing the exit as I knew he would. I would’ve chosen the same seat—I hated having my back to Filippi’s man.
“Interesting choice of meeting place,” Archer said, looking around at the decor.
“My friend owns the place,” I explained. “You hungry?”
“I could eat.”
I looked away from Archer and caught Sasha’s eye and nodded. I turned my attention back to Archer.
We didn’t discuss personal details. I had no idea if Archer was married or had kids. I didn’t care. Just like he didn’t care that I had children. We were engaged in a mutually beneficial relationship that was based on the exchange of information and favors. His colleagues didn’t know about our relationship, but it was well known in his circle that you dealt with the lesser of two evils. Or in this case, the lesser of two criminals. Archer didn’t approve of the SINS. But he knew we were good for our word. We’d stopped bringing illegal arms into the country, which had been a big win for Archer and those he reported to. Archer would rather continue our friendship than risk working with someone else.
Though we preferred to communicate by private email, mostly about illegal tipoffs I gave him, what I needed from him now could only be handled in person.
“It’s been a while since we’ve met like this,” Archer said.
“It has,” I agreed.
A cocktail server brought over a bottle of champagne, presented it to me, and then opened it. As she poured out two flutes of bubbly, the caviar arrived. Two servings were placed on the table, the champagne went into an ice bucket, and then the staff retreated.
“You’re going all out,” Archer said in amusement. “You must want something really bad.”
“The caviar is going to do all the asking,” I quipped. I took one of the shells that had a dollop of caviar in the center and scooped the black roe with a mother-of-pearl spoon.
“That was amazing,” Archer said, setting aside his empty shell and reaching for his glass of champagne.
“The Russians know their caviar.”
“And the French know their champagne,” he added, taking a sip. “So, should we get to it?”
I nodded. “I need a hacker.”
He blinked. “I like how you don’t mince words, Barrett. Why do you need a hacker?”
I held his gaze. “I can’t tell you.”
“I knew the caviar was an expensive ploy. Is it SINS business?”
I shook my head. “It’s personal business. Family.”
“Barrett—”
“I need help,” I said quietly. “And I know it’s a lot to ask of you, but if you help me with this, I promise you it will be worth it.”
Archer’s eyes gleamed in interest. “Go on.”
“I can’t tell you any more. You either trust my word or you don’t.” I leaned forward ever so slightly. “So? Will you help me?”
At the end of a two hour meal, sated on Russian delicacies and lulled by French champagne, Don Archer had finally agreed to help. The next morning at 11 AM, I stood at the clock in the main terminal of Grand Central Station.
My phone rang, and I answered it. “No, I don’t have him yet,” I said automatically.
“Have who?” came Ash’s voice.
Fuck. I’d been dodging her calls. “Uh, Flynn hired a new employee and I’m picking him up at Grand Central.” Not an outright lie, but still a lie.
“How’s it back in Dornoch?” I asked, quickly changing the subject.
“Things are good,” she said. “The gallery is busy and Carys is a crazy fast crawler now. She’s gotten really good at getting away from me.
I let out a laugh. “Yeah, I know how that is. How’s Duncan?” I forced myself to ask.
“He’s good. He went to visit Ramsey in London yesterday, so I’ve got the house to myself.”
“Nice,” I choked out.
“You okay?” she asked. “You sound funny.”
“Yeah, no, I’m good. Just distracted. Can I give you a buzz later?”
“Sure. Give the boys a kiss for me.”
“I will.”
I hung up, pushing down the wave of guilt. I focused on the busy terminal, my eyes scanning for a man who could be a hacker. My eyes seemed to land on every pale, skinny guy who passed by. It might’ve been a preconceived cliché, but I couldn’t help it. Archer had only given me a name and the time of his train arrival. Dex Hollingsworth was supposed to find me.
“Barrett Campbell?” I turned. And blinked. The man standing in front of me wasn’t pale or skinny. He grinned, cute dimples flashing in his cheeks, his dirty blond hair peeking out from a Red Sox cap. And he was hot.
“Dex Hollingsworth?”
“That’s me,” he said, holding out his hand.
I shook his hand. “You’re not what I expected.”
He chuckled. “Let me guess. Pale, skinny, and dorky?”
“With glasses,” I added.
“I wear contacts.” He adjusted the backpack on his shoulders and reached down to grab his duffel bag. “Where are we headed?”
“This way,” I said, leading him towards the exit where my driver was waiting. “How was the train from DC?”
“Fine,” he said with an amused smile.
“How did come to work for Archer?” I inquired, pushing the door open and holding it for Dex.
He chuckled. “He didn’t give me much of a choice.”
After we were on our way towards The Rex, and the partition was closed, I asked Dex, “So you hacked into the FBI database, found stuff you shouldn’t have, and Archer recruited you to use your powers for good instead of evil?”
Dex stretched out his long legs and lifted the brim of his hat. “Pretty much. So Archer was pretty vague on what I’d be doing.”
“Ah, yeah, that’s because he doesn’t know. I didn’t tell him.”
“You asked for a hacker, didn’t tell him what it was for, and he just came through for you? That’s some real clout.”
“Yeah,” I said because it was true. I wasn’t about to tell Dex the intricacies of my relationship with Archer. Dex didn’t really look like he cared; he was getting paid a small fortune.
“Archer said you’re the best and you�
�re discreet.”
“I am and I am,” Dex promised with an arrogant grin.
“You were a jock in high school, weren’t you?” I asked, smiling ruefully as I took him all in. The body, the hat, the arrogance. I was going to have a good laugh when Flynn and Dex met.
Dex nodded. “How’d you guess?”
Chapter 32
We got back to The Rex, and I took Dex to the hotel room he’d be staying in. He whistled, setting down his backpack and dropping his duffel on the queen-sized bed.
“Nice digs,” he said.
“Glad you think so. Feel free to order whatever you want from room service and the mini bar.”
“Thanks.”
I went to the desk and set down the two files. “Everything you need to start with is in these files. Alessandro Filippi and Lila St. James.”
“What is it you want me to find?” he asked, reaching for the files, curiosity and eagerness on his face.
“I don’t know,” I said. “Anything that looks suspicious or links them. Lila St. James has disappeared from Las Vegas. I was hoping you could find out where she went.”
“Who are these people?” Dex asked.
I paused, closing my mouth.
“I’m going to find out. You know that, right? It might be easier if you gave me a brief run down.”
“Brief, yeah, not the word I was going to use, but okay.” I sighed and then gave him a clinical run down of Lila and Filippi. To Dex’s credit, he didn’t bat an eye. He seemed more in shock over the luxury of his hotel suite than anything else.
“I’ll find something,” he vowed.
“What if there’s nothing to find?”
“There’s always something to find. You just have to know how and where to dig. Trust me, I’ve got a good shovel,” he teased.
I let out a relieved breath. I believed him. After giving him my cell phone number and Flynn’s, I left, wanting him to work his magic as soon as possible.
The penthouse suite was quiet; Flynn had gone to meet with the curator who’d been in charge of the tapestry exhibit at The Met. We were supposed to go together, but the curator only had a brief block of open time before she was heading out of the country. Flynn and I had compromised—he would talk with her and glean any information he could about The White Company, and I would pick up Dex from Grand Central.
I was contemplating calling Moira so I could check in on the boys when the elevator doors opened and Flynn strode in. Energy radiated off of him, the scowl on his face intense.
“What?” I demanded. “What the hell happened now?”
“You ever feel like we’re just being reactive?” he wondered, some of his scowl diminishing.
“It’s hard to be proactive when we don’t have all the information,” I pointed out.
“Lord Chatsworth, dead, white ink tattoo. I got the call from Ramsey as I was coming out of The Met. Family is saying it was a heart attack.”
“Fuckedy fuck fuck,” I said.
“My sentiments exactly,” Flynn said bleakly.
“The White Company strikes again. What the hell are we going to do about this? This is no longer random, right?”
“Not random,” he agreed. “But we still don’t have the connection.”
“We can’t keep waiting for answers, Flynn. Too many fires. Not enough extinguishers.”
His blue eyes gleamed. “The curator was very helpful.”
“She was?”
“Aye. She told me who loaned the tapestry for the exhibit.”
“Well?” I demanded. “Who?”
“Giovanni Marino, Jr.”
My eyes widened. “You mean—”
“Aye. Alessandro Filippi is trying to take out his own brother.”
“And if we told Marino that—as a show of good faith—maybe he’ll tell us how to deal with The White Company?”
“That was my thought.”
My cell phone rang, momentarily cutting off our conversation. It was Dex.
“Come on,” I said after I hung up. I grabbed Flynn’s hand and tugged him towards the elevator. “Dex found something.”
“Already?” Flynn asked. “That’s impressive.”
“Just hold onto that feeling,” I told him.
He frowned. “Why?”
Dex opened the door to his suite, and I watched Flynn measure him up. And down. Dex still wore his Red Sox baseball hat, but it was on backwards. He’d taken off his shoes and had obviously made himself comfortable.
“Hey, you must be Barrett’s husband. Dex Hollingsworth, nice to meet you.” He held out his hand to Flynn. Flynn took it and shook it slowly.
“Nice to meet you,” Flynn said gruffly.
Dex cocked his head to one side. “You’re Scottish, yeah?”
“Aye,” Flynn said.
“Cool. I studied for a semester at St. Andrews. I loved it.”
Just like that, Flynn’s countenance softened. Nothing melted my Scotsman’s heart faster than when he found others who loved his country.
We stepped into the suite and closed the door.
“Lila is in New York,” Dex said. “I found the flight log with her as a passenger. Four days ago, she got onto a plane in L.A. and flew to New York.”
“L.A.? She was in Vegas,” I said.
“She rented a car.”
“Under her own name?” Flynn asked.
“No. Under Alessandro Filippi.”
“So now we have confirmation that Lila and Filippi are working together,” I said.
“Aye,” Flynn said. “But something still doesn’t add up. Filippi told you he wasn’t after me. Which means—”
“There’s a third party involved. Hidden.”
Dex waited until Flynn and I were finished before saying, “When Lila got to New York, she went underground. She’s lying low, but she’s still in the city.”
“Can you put her on the ‘no fly’ list?” I asked.
“Already did it,” he assured me. “If she tries to fly somewhere else, I’ll know about it. I’m going to do some digging on Alessandro Filippi. Maybe she’s tucked away in his apartment.”
“That would be too easy,” Flynn replied. “But sure, let’s hope for it, anyway.”
We left Dex and headed back to the privacy of our suite. I collapsed onto the couch, yearning for a drink despite the fact that the sun hadn’t even set yet.
“We’re on borrowed time,” I said quietly.
“What can Filippi do?” Flynn wondered, sitting next to me and stealing a hand across my back. “Realistically? The only leverage he has is the knowledge that someone wants to take me out.”
I snorted. “So what else is new, right?”
Flynn chuckled, pulling me into his side. “The boys are safe. You’re here with me. We’ll figure out the rest.”
“We’re being watched,” I told him. “Filippi had a guy at Sasha’s lounge when I met with Archer.”
“Aren’t you sick of being reactive?”
“You know I am.”
“We are Campbells,” he said softly, though his tone was steel.
“And what does that mean, Flynn?” I asked.
“We’re fighters.”
“Don’t you get tired of fighting?” I wondered.
“Fight or die, love. When you have something someone else wants, there’s always a chance they’ll try to take it from you. The trick is not to let them.”
I snuggled into his chest and closed my eyes. His fingers scratched the back of my head as he continued to speak, his brogue another comforting caress. “It’s all right if you’re tired. I can fight for the both of us.”
“Do you know what I love most about you,” I whispered.
“What’s that, hen?”
I lifted my head so I could stare into his cobalt blue eyes. Reaching out, I stroked my hand across his stubbly jaw. He’d started to grow his beard again.
“I love that you find your way back to me. You somehow always find a way to work things out.”
He smiled thoughtfully. “You’re home. I need you to know that. I know I don’t say it enough, or prove it enough—”
“You do,” I assured him. “I know I’m loved. I know you love me.”
“It’s not enough,” he said. “I hate… that my jealousy and insecurities can sometimes get the best of me. I hate that about myself.”
“Don’t,” I said. “Don’t hate anything about yourself. Even when I’m at my most angry with you, or us, I never ever think about leaving. I take you, Flynn Campbell, flaws and all.”
He smiled just before placing his lips on mine. “Thank you,” he whispered. “For always choosing me—even when I’m at my worst.”
“I choose your worst over anyone else’s best.”
Flynn stood up and held out his hand to me. I placed my hand in his and then he swept me up into his arms, carrying me towards the bedroom.
Life could go to hell in a moment. It usually did. I wasn’t going to tell Flynn we didn’t have time.
Flynn placed me in the center of the bed and then came down on top of me. We stared at each other, our hands beginning to roam.
“I love you,” he said.
I grinned wickedly. “Prove it.”
Chapter 33
“Demure or sexy?” I asked Flynn as I stood in the closet, rifling through my clothes.
Flynn loomed in the doorway of the walk-in, his gaze sliding up and down my body. “If you wear that, you’ll be sexy.”
I was currently wearing nothing but a pair of lace panties and heels. “Not helpful,” I said.
“Demurely sexy,” he suggested.
“Are you sure I have to go to this thing with you? I wasn’t a fan of the guy’s father. I doubt I’ll like him much. And I’m going to have to keep my mouth shut.”
“Such a hardship, I know,” Flynn teased. He was already dressed in an impeccable three-piece gray suit. “Marino is bringing his wife, so you have to be there.”
Dinner with the leader of the Italian mafia in New York. Just another day, I thought snidely. Though Flynn and I had spent the afternoon in bed together, I wasn’t lulled into a state of acceptance.